Cheesy Chiang Mai (with a side of antibiotics)

This past November, my husband and I took a long trip to an exotic faraway land in Southeast Asia: Thailand. We enjoyed noodle dishes, homemade curries, fresh whole grilled fish on the beach, and of course pizza.

Welllll, I wouldn't say I 100% enjoyed the pizza there, which I know, I know, is shocking.

But let's back up to earlier that day. We were halfway through our trip, and were spending a long weekend in the northern Thai city of Chiang Mai. Northern Thailand is beautiful, with green jungles and mountains, rice paddies, and even the stifling heat and humidity of the south and Bangkok is muted by comparison. Many people come to Chiang Mai to "trek" (hike) through the jungles and walk through the peaceful rivers; my husband and I were no different. Since we are city-folk with minimal outdoorsy survival skills (and gear), I figured a one-day trek would be fine. And of course, as a reward for our calorie burning efforts, I chose this day as the perfect day to reward ourselves with a nice big pizza. Remember - it is my travel rule that I have to try the local pizza in every country!

We hiked a good 4 hours in the morning, then sat down to lunch at a picnic table with a local hill tribe family. Without electricity, indoor plumbing and thus proper hand-washing facilities, and utensils, I cannot imagine the filth I must have eaten. The food we ate was scrumptious: perfectly cooked sticky rice, fried chicken, local Chiang Mai spicy sausage, and some ripe juicy pineapple. Regardless, about ten minutes after eating, I was blacking out dizzy, having stomach cramps, and our trek guides were shoving a eucalyptus inhaler into my nostrils to relieve the nausea.

While I felt better after a few minutes, periodic stomach cramps persisted, and it became obvious that I could not continue on with the hike. One of our guides drove me to a riverbank, where I rested and waited for the rest of the hikers to join me. After a while, I began to feel a little better, and my stomach stopped hurting completely. Our guides drove us back to our hotel, and we arrived in our room around dinnertime.

Now I should have taken the day's events as a warning. I should have been gentle to my stomach, drank some gatorade, had some rice for dinner, and slept for like 12 hours.

Nope.

I still decided I wanted - no, NEEDED to try the Thai pizza. I had even done some research before our trip, and found a place called Pizza n Pasta, a NY-style pizzeria in the old walled city of Chiang Mai that was owned by a western expat. Besides, I hadn't had any stomach cramps in several hours, so my magnificently resilient disposition must have recovered. My husband tried to stop me, but it was too late, as the idea had already been cemented in my brain. He went out to pick up the pizza, and for good measure, I asked him to pick me up a Smirnoff Ice from the local convenience store (wine in Thailand is prohibitively expensive due to import taxes).

The pizza in Thailand was honestly not that great. The pepperoni was very light, almost like a bologna. I am more of a fan of the crispy deep red variety. The cheese tasted strange and unnatural, very processed and full of preservatives. And the sauce didn't have much spice, instead a bland creamy chalkiness that was completely forgettable. I finished eating, and then went to bed with a shrug.

My night should have ended there, but unfortunately I awoke around 2 am to searing intestinal pain. I began what would become a reoccurring ritual of running to the bathroom. I started my antibiotics that night. I was sooo sick the next day during our elephant excursion and couldn't even eat a mouthful of rice. I discovered the intricacies of third world non-automatic plumbing. A world devoid of toilet paper.

I never thought I'd equate something as exquisite as pizza with something as disgusting as food poisoning. But every time my husband mentioned the heavy pizza we ate that night, a wave of nausea flashed over me, and my stomach turned.

Thailand - for all its exotic beauty - made me think bad things about pizza. And for that, it shall never be forgiven.

PS: I have since recovered, and am eating pizza in full force.

Spanish Bombs

My husband Dave and I got married on May 5, 2012. It was a beautiful day with all our family and friends, and the only thing that went wrong was the humidity. I had my hair in an up-do though, so it worked out for me. After our wedding, we traveled to Spain to bask in the Basque country, marvel at Madrid, and... bark.. in Barcelona (sorry I couldn't think of one).

We started our Spanish journey in Madrid, which is both the national capital and the tapas capital. We wanted to try everything! We feasted on many different tapas, ham, olives, cheese, tortilla española, and croquettes, just to name a few. However, we did manage to sneak some pizza in of course. The first piece of pizza we tried was a small place in the Cortes neighborhood. It was remarkable because they really loaded it up with dried herbs, and the crust had a nice puffiness to it.

The next pizza we tried was during a tapas crawl before a night out at some bars. It was much closer to the American style pizza, in standard triangular slices, which might be expected as we were in the touristy neighborhood near the Plaza Mayor. This was the best pizza we ate in Spain, and the pepperoni was super crispy.

Look how happy we are there! Awwww, honeymooners.

After a few days in Madrid, we took a long, 5-hour train ride to San Sebastián, located in the Basque region on the coast of northern Spain. San Sebastián is one of the most beautiful places on earth, and is known for being a major foodie capital. From Michelin starred restaurants like Arzak and Mugaritz, to the average pintxos bar (pintxos is the Basque equivalent of tapas) in old city, every chef in San Sebastián is aiming to be innovative. I absolutely loved it here, and it didn't hurt that the town is situated on a half-moon bay, nestled in the hills.

We of course managed to sneak in some pizza. After a leisurely afternoon grazing on pintxos, we stumbled upon a pizzeria and I decided there was no harm in trying a slice.

This pizza was super cheesy, with the nice broiled bubbles, situated on a super thin crust. It was delightfully delicate, and similar to American bar pie.

Our final leg of the trip was Barcelona, land of Gaudí. We did some amazing architectural tours, wandered a bit, and of course tried the pizza. The first stop was a small place on a touristy street near La Boquería market, and was pretty lackluster. Nothing special, just your average re-heated moneymaker on a cafeteria tray.

Our last night though, we had much better pizza near our hotel in El Born. Here it is, half-devoured.

This pizza was much more towards the European style, with a thin crust, good sauce, and not too much cheese.

Overall, Spain gave us some great memories and beautiful food. But my food memories there revolve more around ham and cheese bechamel croquettes, and less around pizza.

hello.

Why am I here? What is the meaning of life? How big is the universe? These questions are frustrating to a human, and no amount of deep thought or philosophy will answer them. We are, at this pin drop in history, not capable of understanding the world around us, floating aimlessly, and there's nothing we can do about it.

But do you know what I understand? PIZZA. I can eat pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner all in the same day. I can eat pizza 7 days a week. I can eat pizza while on vacation in a foreign country in lieu of gaining culture and eating what the locals eat. I can eat pizza at a McDonald's in rural central California. I can eat pizza when I'm full. I can eat pizza when everyone else wants dessert, and the pizza box has been sitting out with like only 2 leftover slices, after everyone has devoured their pizza already. Those 2 leftover slices have my name on them.

And so I decided to start this blog to document my passion for pizza. Yes, my family and friends know this passion well. I grew up nagging my mom to order Domino's every night. She almost always refused, but every Friday, we were allowed as a family to order from Angelo's, the local New Jersey pizzeria, instead. When we would travel, my parents would have their one date night alone together, order a hotel pizza for my brother and me, and this would be my highlight meal of the trip. When I went to college, every Sunday was Lazy Sunday, when my roommates and I would order massive amounts of Pizza Hut,  gorge, and watch Lifetime movies all day. After college, I started dating my husband, Dave. Our first date was at Dee's pizza in Queens. When he proposed to me, he hid the ring in a pizza box. And now as an adult, like most other female adults, I try to watch what I eat, have my veggies, and indulge in the exquisite pleasure that is pizza.

So why the celestial slice? Because pizza is the food of the gods. Because pizza is out of this world. Because while I may not understand the universe, I can understand what makes pizza heavenly. Bon Appetit.